


A Beautiful Dream

by sleepingseeker



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little one shot, set in the future on some dreamy Christmas Eve night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beautiful Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I know it’s early, but I wanted to write something special for you all. A little early Christmas present to my followers and friends.

The box is all wrong. 

He can see that now, standing shin-deep in billowing snow just outside the back door of her apartment. It shouldn’t have been purple, the paper. He should turn around, run back home and rewrap the thing before she answers the door. Before he makes a complete and utter fool of himself. 

“Stupid to even come here,” he huffs under his breath. “Should’ve called her first.”

His lips purse as he deliberates and finally decides to bolt. But his feet are planted firmly and the only part of him moving are his knees as they knock together and not from the icy chill.

The door swings open and the world is awash in light and warmth as her figure fills the space and her smile graces him with an inability to speak. She’s an angel. And he’s a fool for even being here.

But it is all a dream, isn’t it?

He mouths the words, turning his face, mumbling,  _April, I had the strangest dream._

And yet.

She is there and her ugly Christmas sweater is impeccably hideous, all pom-poms and glittery elves and reindeer doing a conga around a blue tinseled triangular idol that looks like a Christmas tree only in the imagination of the most twisted of minds. There is music somewhere behind her. And the smell of gingerbread and evergreen permeate the frost-laced air.

“Donnie.” 

She smiles around his name and god help him, his hearts stops.

His arms move, shooting forward, elbows locking as he presents her the gift despite his mind screaming for him to hide the stupid thing and make up an excuse for why he’s there in the middle of the night. On Christmas Eve of all nights.

He expects her to pretend not to see it. He expects her to give him a chance to cover his awkward and foolish mistake. He expects her to tenderly refuse, letting him off as easy as possible.

He doesn’t expect her to gently take it from him, leaving his hands empty and frozen in a position too much like supplication, before he slams them to his side and lets loose a trilling bubble of nervous chuckling.

“I hope you like it,” he blurts. All in one sentence. 

But it is all a dream, isn’t it?

He turns a heavy head, laying against something warm and soft. A scent of evergreen and something else, something familiar, like home. But better.

He mutters but the words come out slurred and incoherent.  _April, I had the strangest dream._

And yet.

The purple paper tears loose, decorating the snow between them. The gold chain is lifted out from the homemade box, and the copper heart, harvested from tiny components and heated, then beaten, delicately, over and over, to form the perfect shape, catches the light and sparks ruby. 

Her smile spreads. “I love it.”

His heart melts.

A sliding of blankets, slipping free from his shoulder. Lips parting, murmuring,  _April, I had the strangest dream._

A blanket is pulled back into place and patted, softly. A hand, warm and creased caresses his cheek and lips are pressed into the crow’s feet wrinkles alongside the outer corner of his sleeping eye.

“Shh,” she whispers and goes back to reading the storybook in her lap, voice hushed so as not to wake her husband besides her where he dozes.

A plump hand reaches up to find the patterned charm, shaped like a heart, hanging from her neck. 

“He had the stwangest dweam, Momma,” the child says, wide eyes rising to meet April’s.

“Oh. Is that what your daddy keeps saying?” April asks, pulling their baby girl closer. “It’s almost bedtime, Nevaeh. You need to get to bed so Santa can make his stop.”

“Yep. Okay.”

April kisses the top of her head. The girl’s fingers twist and turn as she takes another moment to examine the heart hanging around her mother’s neck, one she never removes. A long ago gift. A symbol of love.

Love given. Love accepted.

A beautiful dream.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 


End file.
